


Falter

by The Tepid Teapot (Tallywack)



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Depersonalization, Derealization, Eventual Relationships, Gen, Graphic Description, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, More Hurt Than Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rituals, Torture, Vomiting, Waterboarding, Whump, other awful things I'm sure, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:36:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6103528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tallywack/pseuds/The%20Tepid%20Teapot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles was always proud of his ability to keep pushing onward no matter what the world threw at him. Sometimes it seems like the universe is testing him though.</p><p>(On hiatus until I get all my notes in order and rewrites finished.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Charles whump incoming

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how long/short this fic will be. At least a couple chapters if I keep it simple, but now that I've started I'm really enjoying the Charles whump and I keep thinking of all the horrible things I could put him through, so there's that. This chapter is a lot shorter than my norm, but it felt like a natural ending point so here we are. First fic in this fandom and I'm quite enjoying it.
> 
> Edit: Figured out where I want this to go while I was at work today. It was pretty much all I focused on. Updated the warnings to include things I have planned for the future.

“My Lord, the U.N. is on hold for you, they’re requesting a video conference. Your meeting with Crystal Mountain is in four hours, and I need your approval to finalize the designs for the Somalia concert.”

He could see the strain around the man’s eyes increase, a tightness to his lips. He was new, but one of the first things he’d figured out without being told were the subtle cues Offdensen gave when a migraine was starting to get to him.

“Would you like me to take over anything my Lord?” he asked, concerned even though he’d seen the man work through much worse.

Charles shook his head, taking a deep breath to compose himself, “No, ah, thank you 528. Be prepared to reschedule the meeting with Crystal Mountain if the U.N. conference goes long.”

“Yes, sir,” his assistant was loyal and unquestioning as ever. As they should be.  
\------------------------------------------  
“I understand your concerns,” Charles placated, “but there’s only so much I can do to progress the record at this time.”

“Well then do it!” someone shouted, from one of the Asian seats Charles thought.

“Of course,” Charles assured, “As soon as this meeting concludes I will be talking with Dethklok about this next record and how,ah, quickly they think they can complete it. With any luck we should have a time frame worked out for you in the next week.”

“You’d better. The world is counting on this album.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get it done,” he promised, hand moving rapidly to hit the end call button.

Charles turned, one hand gripping the desk for support as he gagged. He sat slowly, deep breaths shaking out as he rested his head in his hands. His assistant turned the lights down without a word before coming to stand silently nearby, ready for whatever he might be needed for. The manager sat, unmoving, for a long time. Breaths came even and steady now as he focused, trying to put himself in the mindset needed to get through this.

Charles had gotten very good at dealing with high stress situations on such a constant basis that typically he was able to handle them with ease and grace, but recent events had been pushing him to his limits. He had a threshold, like anyone, and just because his was higher didn’t mean it didn’t exist. As it was, the almost non-stop drama the band had been causing lately, both in the media and in the political arena, plus their almost complete refusal to work on the album was enough to push Charles to the edge of what he could handle stress wise. He wasn't certain when his last migraine free day had been, but at this point he was fairly certain he was owed a respite.

So far the band didn’t know. Charles didn’t want to worry his boys, especially over something he knew he could handle.

“My Lord,” 528 paused, uncertain, one hand reaching out to comfort. He knew that wasn’t what the man wanted though and lowered his hand, feeling guilty even though he knew Offdensen preferred it this way. “The Dethjet is ready to take you to your meeting with Cornickelson,” he finished lamely.

“Thank you 528,” he sounded earnest as he stood and walked out, head up and eyes forward. 528 could still see the pinched look, even in the dim light, and he hated it.

Offdensen seemed determined to pretend none of it ever happened though, so his assistant had to follow suit.  
\--------------------------------------  
Unfortunately for Charles the meeting with Damien Cornickelson wasn’t going much better than his talk with the U.N. had. He was more irritated by the man than anything, but his intense hate for Dethklok was starting to look like it might impact the new album, and that was something Charles hadn’t been entirely prepared to deal with. He was used to people bowing to the whims of his boys. The whole world knew how important Dethklok was, and for Cornickelson to be attempting to block them on something as globally important as this album, Charles was ready to murder the little weasel and be done for the day. He couldn’t though, and so the pain behind his eyes became more insistent as their meeting stretched on.

After the third hour of arguing pointlessly with the man Charles’ migraine had intensified to the point that it was starting to become clearly obvious that something was wrong. 528 slid himself smoothly into the conversation as Offdensen uncharacteristically faltered.

“Perhaps we should schedule another meeting for tomorrow,” he suggested to Cornickelson. “We need time to think about the different options you’ve given us,” he scoffed inwardly, like they’d really been given any options. The entire meeting had been a bullshit waste of time, and his master was suffering needlessly from it. He just hoped he could get Offdensen out before the migraine got too intense. He knew how much the man valued his professional appearance and nothing that came with the more severe migraines was at all professional or pleasant.

Damien thankfully agreed to another meeting the next day, and 528 managed to get his master out without anyone realising what state he was in. Offdensen was an impressive actor, and kept a calm controlled look until they were back in the Dethjet at which point his legs gave out and he curled tightly into himself on the floor of the aircraft. His assistant got him up onto one of the bench seats at the back of the jet and lowered the lights without missing a beat.

528 went to the jets medkit and rummaged around until he found the strongest pain killer in it, sadly only a bottle of aspirin. He returned to his master with a handful of pills and a bottle of guitaraid. The man hadn’t drunk anything since before his U.N. call, and 528 was reasonably concerned that he might be dehydrated at this point.

Charles was barely aware as pills and liquid were poured into his mouth, fingers stroking firmly down the length of his throat until he’d swallowed it all. He allowed himself another moment to curl up in agony, fingers gripping tightly into his hair, breath coming in harsh shaky gasps as the pain continued to mount.

“I-I, ah, need you to call the boys,” he managed, voice coming in a soft pained whisper, “Tell them we’re having a band meeting as soon as I’m back.”

“Sir,” 528 faltered again. He knew how determined the man was to ignore this, to keep pushing on, but 528 could no longer ignore the state he was in. “No sir, I’m sorry but I won’t be doing that. When we get back to Mordhaus you need to rest,” he stated firmly.

“That isn’t an option right now,” Charles countered, mind swimming with all he still needed to accomplish today.

“I think it may be your only option, sir,”

Charles looked up at that. Insubordination was not something he could afford to tolerate in the current global climate, even if it was for his own benefit. “528,” he asked, cold and serious, “are you refusing an order?”

“If it means letting you kill yourself, then yes, yes I am,” the man answered confidently.

Charles sighed, deep with exhaustion both physical and emotional, “Then I’m very sorry 528, but your services will no longer be required,” before he could even consider talking himself out of it Charles drew his gun and shot his assistant directly in the head. The man dropped with a loud thud, and Charles heaved violently over the edge of the bench, finally pushed past his pain tolerance by the gunshot ringing in his ears.

Room temperature Guitaraid and about fifteen aspirin spurted from parted lips, splattering with the blood now spreading out across the floor. Without much thought Charles fumbled for his phone and called the next ranking klokateer informing the man of his new position as his assistant and asking him to have a clean up crew and some oxycodone ready when the jet landed. With this done Charles allowed himself a brief moment of weakness, curling back into himself with a quiet sob as the intense pain continued to radiate through him. As soon as he had the painkiller he’d get back to it. He had to.


	2. Baseline whumpage continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so done looking at this chapter. Just take it.

“Man, why does Charles always have to call dese stupid meetings?” Pickles groaned, leaning back on the couch.

“Yeah, what’s-what’s we even do this time?” Toki asked, throwing his arms in the air.

“Who knows, I mean he gets mad at _everything_ we do. Like we’re never good enough,” Murderface grumbled kicking the wall, “Only the best band in the fucking world.”

“Yes,” Charles said seriously, stepping around the corner, “You are the best band in the world, and as such you have more to lose.”

“Just tell us what we did wrong this time Charles,” Nathan demanded grumpily.

Charles took a deep breath to ground himself. So far the oxy was working to keep the migraine at bay, but his vision had begun to swim and fade alarmingly not long after he’d gotten back to Mordhaus. If he could just make it through this meeting with the boys, send them off to work on the album, then he could grab a power nap before his meeting with development about the upcoming show.

“Well to start with you’ve, ah, hardly done any work on the new record, and as you know this album is vitally important to world economics and relations. The longer you guys take-” he paused as his vision completely blacked for a moment, vertigo gripping him, and empty stomach flipping unpleasantly, “The longer you take,” he forced out, “the worse the economy is going to get, and the more, ah, tense world relations are going to be. If you take much longer you stand a valid chance of starting a number of wars through inaction.”

“Brutal,” Nathan stated.

“Yes, I suppose that could be considered brutal,” Charles sighed, “but if you want to continue to have live shows you need to put the work in on this album guys. If things continue as they have been then I’m not going to be able to book you anywhere out of, ah, safety concerns. The Somalia concert is already more risky than I’d like,” he concluded.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to go and meet with the developmental department to see what they’ve come up with for the show,” as he turned to leave the vertigo spiked dizzyingly, and Charles found himself very abruptly on the floor, tremors running through his body. His last thought before blacking out was that he was disappointed in himself for doing this in front of the boys.

“Charles?” Nathan called, everyone frozen in place with uncertainty. 

“Charles ams yous alright?”

“Shit,” Nathan grumbled, getting up when there continued to be no response from their manager. “Charles,” he called again, reaching out to give the man a shake. No response.

The singer reached down, holding a hand in front of the man’s mouth to make sure he was still breathing. With a relieved sigh he stood up, “I think he just passed out, hang on,” Nathan walked over to lean out a door, “HEY, GET A DOCTOR UP HERE!” he shouted out to any klokateers in the vicinity.

Nathan picked their manager up without much effort and moved him to the couch. “What do you think’s wrong wit him?” Pickles asked worriedly as Nathan began to pace the room.

“Who knows? I mean he ams fine yesterdays,” Skwizgaar said with a shrug, glancing at the limp body on the couch, fingers flickering over the strings of his guitar in an unspoken statement of concern.

There was nothing they could do until the doctor got there and they all knew it. The remaining wait was eaten up with uncomfortable tense silence and awkward attempts at humor. When the man finally hurried in Nathan burst from his walking pattern with a “Fucking finally, he only might be dying.”

“I seriously doubt that,” the doctor comforted, well aware of Offdensen’s unhealthy work ethic. “Probably just needs a few days off,” he stated, moving to kneel next to the prone man.

“Few days off? Why don’t we get a few days off, we been working our asses off on this new album,” Muderface complained.

“ _We’s_?” Skwizgaar asked incredulously, “Whats works ams you been doing then?”

“Hey! Hey, now I do plenty of work! I probably deserve twice as much time off as any of you jackoffs!” he shouted.

“None of you are getting any more time off until you actually work on the album,” Charles groaned quietly, one hand moving to clutch at his still spinning head. Slowly, he pushed himself upright, eyes closed in concentration, and breaths coming shaky but even.

“Crystal Mountain is threatening to drop your contract if they don't see some progress, andI know that won't set us back too much, but, ah, I'd rather not have to run a record company on top of everything else,” Charles made a point to look at each of them as he spoke. 

“Now, as I was saying, I have a meeting with development,” he stood slowly, careful not to trigger another attack of vertigo. “We can have a quick check in my office, but I don't have time for a full exam so you'll have to make it quick,” he told the doctor as they walked out. No nap after all it seemed.

“What the hell was that about?” Nathan asked the room once the door closed. They were all a bit shocked by Charles’ odd behavior.

“Maybe, maybe he got the flu or something,” Murderface suggested, “we should get those face masks so we don't get sick before the show.”

“What's if he’s…” Toki trailed off, eyes flicking worriedly to the door, “wells, you know. Hamburger time.”

“Oh come on guys!” Nathan exclaimed, “he’s not, ya know, no, no way. Murderface is probably right, he's probably just sick or fuckin something.”

“Eh, wes am should goes works on the album either ways,” Skwizgaar sighed, “The news has been more… brutal dans usual.”

“Yeah! Right, it's fuckin sweet!” Murderface whooped, “Bombings and beheadings, my two favorite b words. Well I mean right after booze and boob-”

He was cut off as Pickles shoved him, “Hey man, Skwizgaar is right. Charles seems really worried bout dis stuff, the least we can do for the guy’s to work on the album.”

Pickles headed for the door without waiting for anyone else, Skwizgaar and Toki following not far behind. 

Nathan just looked at him and shook his head before heading out after the others. “Wait! What did I do?! What did I even do?!” Murderface shouted, following in confusion.

\---------------------------

“I'm not taking time off,” Charles stated as he closed the door to his office.

“I think that's the stupidest thing I've heard all week, and I had to listen to Murderface try to explain the concept of his solo project to me.”

Charles winced, that was a pretty brutal burn.

“Look,” the doctor continued more seriously, “I know I can't make you do anything but if you continue like this it's only going to get worse. You're wearing yourself down-”

“I only need to make it through the concert and then I promise I’ll take a few days off,” Charles placated, pouring himself a glass of brandy against better judgement.

The doctor sighed, “I at least want to give you an IV.”

“Well it’ll have to wait until I’m done discussing things with development,” Charles stated, moving behind his desk.

“Very well, I’ll leave supplies with your assistant,” he paused, “Offdensen, I know you feel like you can work like this, but you have to know that this kind of disregard for your own well being is affecting everything you do whether you realise it or not.”

“I’m fine,” Charles persisted, “Besides, I haven’t even met my new assistant yet, let alone had time to train them.”

“Be that as it may, I want to start trying to figure out other solutions. I want you looking into anything you can do to lighten your workload and put more on the klokateers. That’s what they’re there for Charles,” he stated bluntly.

“Of course, of course. I’ll, ah, start looking into it,” Charles waved him off, moving behind his desk.

With a shake of his head the man left without further comment.

Charles sank into his chair with a sigh of relief as the door shut and took another sip of brandy. He was fine now. He had a bottle of oxycodone in his jacket pocket that he was confident would allow him to make it through to the end of the concert, even considering all that still needed to be done. 

Speaking of, he couldn't stay here much longer, nice as it was. The developmental department had been working on some kind of submersible behemoth, covered in canons and spikes. Charles still wasn't sure what he thought of it but that wasn't for him to decide. It was for Nathan’s birthday so it was exactly what he had asked for, Ill-advised as it may have been. 

And he quoted, “A pirate army, but like, a _brutal_ pirate army. Hmm, spikes and shit. Underwater flamethrowers. Hmm, yeah. Brutal.”

The idea for the concert to be in Somalia was entirely Toki’s fault though. When Nathan had brought up pirates Toki had excitedly declared that they should do the show, “In Somalsias, ya know, where the pirates lives!”

Nathan had been thrilled by the idea of real pirates, and no matter how many times Charles tried to explain the difference between Somali pirates and the pirates Nathan was thinking of the man didn't seem to get it. So, here he was, trying to negotiate one of the most high risk concerts they had done in a long time, and he wasn't nearly where he needed to be in his schedule. Why couldn’t Nathan have wanted to play a concert at Disneyland?

With a groan and a regretful sigh he stood, drained the brandy, and left briskly to see how the designs had turned out. 

\-----------------------------

“The semi-submer-”

“The semi-”

“The semi-submersi-”

Did they always have to say it together? “Look, I don't care what you've called it,” Charles explained tiredly, “You know how the boys name things.”

“Dethship!”

“Dethfrigate!” a moments consideration, “No. No, you're right. Dethship is better.”

“In any case, it is fully submersible, though it is-”

“Not technically a submarine.”

They continued their explanations as Charles looked over the schematics. It was perfect. Dark gleaming metal, sleek despite the multitude of spikes, a fierce and most certainly brutal vessel. Yes. Nathan would be thrilled. They'd even found a way to make the flame throwers work underwater. Something about over oxygenating the water, Charles was certain it was perfectly scientifically sound.

He let the scientists take him through the rest of the tech they had cooked up for this particular show, signing off on design approvals when needed, and suggesting additional security features where he thought they would be effective. All told it only took him an hour, which was a pleasant surprise as everything else that day had run long. It was nice when something worked out.

He still needed to properly meet his new assistant. Aside from the brief contact when he arrived he hadn't really meet the man. Number 2073 if he remembered correctly, and hopefully destined to last longer than his predecessors. Charles still couldn't quite believe he was on his third assistant in a single month. They normally lasted a bit longer than that. He didn't regret killing 528, but it was unfortunate that it had to happen. Hopefully this newest wouldn't make the same mistakes. Charles would take a loyal worker over a sentimental one any day.

The control room was mostly quiet when he returned, Mordhaus having settled in for the night. 2073 was ready with folders in hand and an IV drip set up when Charles walked in, ready to update him on what had been accomplished in his absence. Charles settled into his seat as various klokateers began chiming off on their progress. He let the voices wash over him, taking note of anything that would need to be handled personally, as 2073 attached the IV. After only a few minutes of sitting Charles had dozed off in complete exhaustion and his assistant began taking notes as the klokateers continued their reports. He already knew which buzzwords to listen for and was resolved to not wake Offdensen unless it was absolutely necessary. Surely the world could keep it’s shit together until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: The Tribunal gains some info and the Metal Masked Assassin gets the best news he's heard all year.


	3. The tribunal is ams dildos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I am done poking this thing, take it away from me.  
> Sorry this one took so long. I started moving and trying to get setup to be a camgirl at the same time, so that's been a bit of a time suck.

“Gentlemen,” Stampingston began, “we have recently acquired a number of photographs from an anonymous source. These photographs have proven to be a fount of new information as they were mostly taken around Mordhaus and it’s grounds. We are currently investigating the photographer, but believe it to be a klokateer.”

As he spoke pictures of Dethklok and Mordhaus began appearing onscreen. “Some of this information we already knew,” he stated as pictures of the band in less than glamorous situations added themselves to the screen, “and some of it is… irrelevant,” several pictures of Murderface humping the taxidermy in the endangered species furniture room popped up.

“However, it is not the information that has been gained on Dethklok that is most important to us,” at this point the screen went blank. As images of the band’s manager began appearing onscreen Stampingston continued, “Charles Foster Offdensen. He’s caused us considerably more problems than anticipated, and stands to continue if we do not take action. Luckily we may now have an answer to this particular problem.”

The images shifted from a multitude of general surveillance shots to a small handful of Offdensen in moments of weakness; leaning on an assistant, being sick outside the Dethjet, etc.

“I take it these are recent?” Crozier asked.

“Indeed,” Stampingston replied, “but hardly the most important.”

“Well I should hope there’s something more to go on than Offdensen having the flu.”

The screen cleared again, this time refilling with a series of dark blurry images taken close together. Most were of Offdensen at the center of a pentacle, runes and a number of items scattered around, and markings that looked as though they could have been painted in blood peeking out from behind the open robe he wore. In several later shots both pentacle and runes were glowing an angry red.

“This isn’t exactly new news. We’ve long theorized Dethklok or someone under their employ was using magic to protect them and help catapult them into fame. The fact that it’s Offdensen isn’t much of a surprise, _this_ however could prove most useful.”

The image series progressed through the rest of the spell, red glow fading out into a dull afterglow, and Offdensen collapsing at the center of the pentacle. There were several more shots like this before the time signature on the pictures jumped. A touch over an hour later there was a shot of Offdensen pulling himself up off the stone floor.

“We have further documentation of another spell with the same end result. Both sets of photographs were taken the night before two separate concerts. I think you all can see where I’m going with this,” he concluded.

Selatcia’s smile was terrifying, “Let us invite Mr. Offdensen by for a chat.”

“I’ve got just the man,” Crozier said, the look on his face an eerie mirror to Selatcia.

\---------------------------------------------------

“Somalia’s government is teetering on the edge of collapse and it looks like Nathan Explosion’s birthday concert is going to factor heavily into the outcome. With Explosion’s birthday just around the corner we’re seeing some pretty inventive tributes around the world. Let’s take a look! One group in Brazil is cutting off their middle two fingers and mailing them to Explosion along with pictures of their new _permanent_ devil’s horns. Meanwhile, in Thailand fans have been working together to build a giant statue of Explosion out of goat carcasses, and in Egypt a new pyramid is being built entirely out of bloodstone! Even Leonard Purcell, coffee mogul and owner of Duncan Hills, has been getting in on the festivities, having just opened a cat sanctuary on his island of Sumatra in the frontman’s name.”

“In other news; the wait for any information on the new Dethklok album continues. This marks the fourth month since the projected release date with no news forthcoming. As world tensions continue to rise and global violence spikes many world leaders are retreating into safehouses to wait out the release of the album. Guess we’ll see how safe those end up being!”

The TV clicked off with a small burst of static.

“Maaaan, how come you get a freakin’ pyramid, and all i got for my crappy birthday was a bunch of mass shootings?” Murderface griped. 

“Hey, we got you the most metal gift we could,” Nathan defended.

“You didn’t GET ME ANYTHING!”

“I know! Brutal.”

“Yeah, dats am a pretty goods gift,” Skwisgaar commented, not looking up from his phone.

“Oh, your opinion doesn’t even count!” the bassist exclaimed, “You’re a fucking nihilist, you love nothing.”

Skwisgaar shrugged noncommittally. “I’d likes a night with the Goldens Girls,” he muttered under his breath, swiping across the phone screen.

\---------------------------------------------------

Crozier would never admit it but coming here always made him nervous. The Assassin was a fairly effective tool, but his clear mental instability was always of concern. Still, that zeal for torture would serve them well in the near future, as would his deep hatred of Offdensen. None of that meant Crozier had to enjoy his time here though.

As he stepped into the room the man occupied the strong smell of blood wafted over him. It had been present before but nothing like this. Crozier stepped around a dismantled body, bodies? he wasn’t certain, and stopped a respectable distance from the Assassin, clearing his throat firmly.

“Ahhhh, Crozier,” the man breathed, turning from his work, “to what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

“I’ve got a job for you, one I think you’ll be quite keen on accepting.” 

Crozier pulled out a folder and handed it to the man, watching his face intently as he opened it. The spark in his eyes as he looked the photos over was unmistakable and Crozier knew he had him. “Your ticket to Somalia is in the back,” Crozier stated, turning to leave. “Make sure not to kill him.”

“Thank you for this opportunity General,” The Assassin smirked, “I’ll make good use of it.”

\---------------------------------------------------

“STOP!” Nathan called standing from the slump he'd dropped into.

A discordant crash of notes sounded out of the booth as Toki stopped mid solo.

“But thats one was great!” he whined.

“Pfffsss, yeah if yous no goods at guitar,” Skwisgaar said haughtily, “and dats am _mys_ solo.”

“Awww, come on. I-i never gets any solos.”

“Yes Tokis, cause you ams not the leads guitarist. Duh.”

“Make- makes him let me has this!” He protested, turning to Nathan. “It's not fair, Skwisgaars gets all the solos,” he may have been playing up the downtrodden look but Nathan wouldn't know.

“Alright, alright,” the front man sighed, “Toki if you can play the solo right in one take we’ll put it on the album. One take only though!”

“Alright! I won't lets you down!”

With a focused determination Toki picked his guitar back up, taking a deep breath as the other pieces of the track began coming through his headphones. As his fingers flew over the frets driven more by jealousy and pride than anything, he was astounded that he was doing so well. He might actually do it in one take! Toki felt an excitement normally reserved for kittens and trips to the circus, he was so close to the end!

And then it was over. “Awww hells yeah! I tolds you guys!”

“Heh, heh, Toki, Toki you're gonna kill me.” Nathan laughed with schadenfreude glee, “Heh, we weren't recording.”

“YOUS MOTHER-FUC-!!”

\---------------------------------------------------

“8781 I'm entrusting you with a highly important task,” Charles addressed the lone klokateer with the same seriousness he used before shows. The man stood to attention ready to do whatever was asked, even if it meant a likely death. “I need you to take care of this kitten for a few days.” Well that was unexpected. “And, ah, make certain that Dethklok doesn't find out about it.”

“Yes, my lord,” 8781 replied obediently, taking the tiny black and white kitten carefully.

“2073 has already dropped her supplies by your bunk. For the next couple days this is your only task.”

Charles left the mildly bemused klokateer behind without further comment. He liked the ones that didn't ask questions. Made everything much simpler. Unlike Somalia’s government. Charles was beginning to worry about that.

They just didn't seem to be pleased about anything. Unlike most countries that were falling all over themselves for a chance to host a Dethklok concert, Somalia (or at least their current government) was oddly unexcited by the prospect, more focused on stabilizing a failing system. Charles had been over the benefits of hosting the concert more times than he cared to think about, including the likely stabilization of government and increased public approval. Something was wrong, he just had yet to figure out what. At this point he wasn’t even certain it _had_ anything to do with Somalia.

The last team of klokateers he'd sent in had returned today with nothing to report. For all appearances everything was fine. Other than the shaky government, and the regular kidnappings of course. But that was just Somalia for you.

Nathan was so dead set on this though. Charles had had several private meetings with him now about changing the location but the singer wouldn't even consider it, his mind made up.

So Charles was stuck. He couldn't ignore this feeling, it was something he'd learned early on as Dethklok’s manager. Too many times had it been right, and something terrible had happened. He always prepared well, but not knowing the source of this nebulous threat was making that more difficult. There were the standard procedures, bumping up the amount of security, stationing an aerial force of klokateers on standby, the usual for concerts with any amount of risk. This was different though. Charles had been feeling it for weeks now, like a premonition. _Something_ was going to happen. Damned if he could decipher what though.

_\----------------------------------------------------_

As the last body fell into the stinking, maggot filled hole the Assassin contemplated his upcoming task. He was thrilled to have another shot at Offdensen and determined not to waste it this time. No, this time they would be playing on his turf. This time there would be no interference, no escape. 

He’d cleared out all of his other… projects, wanting a clear space to work in. Offdensen would be his only focus. He had some inventive plans for the man. After all, Crozier’s only stipulation was that they wanted him alive, he'd never mentioned in what state. 


	4. Merry birthmas Nathan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took basically forever. I came up with another plot line that I wanted to add to this, and I thought I was going to have to scrap everything, but I've decided to just start adding it in as I go. Also I suck at writing gen stuff and there's a lot of that this chapter so it took way longer than planned. As a bonus though, it's a bit longer than usual.

As the dethcopter took off Charles ordered a third sweep along their intended path. He wasn’t taking chances with this one, it still felt too off. He was going to have to try and amplify the power of the ritual. Hopefully it wouldn’t kill too many klokateers, still, a stronger shielding was worth more than a few lost gears.

“Hey! Heeeey! Charles! Charles, when are we gonna do presents?” Nathan shouted, an almost puppy like excitement about him as he walked into the control room followed by the rest of the band.

“Well, I, ah, was figuring we could do them tonight. It is your birthday though,” Charles said, smiling at the frontman’s exuberance.

“Dude, ya gotta open ‘em now!” Pickles exclaimed.

“Naw, fuck that. You wait,” Murderface countered, crossing his arms.

“Well, I do want to open them, and waiting will suck. But doing something that sucks on your birthday is pretty brutal. Yeah, hmmmm,” Nathan paused in honest consideration. “Yeah, ya know, let’s wait,” he decided, frowning angrily and turning to go.

“Yeah!” The bassist shouted, “Your birthday totally blows man!”

Charles watched them leave, wandering off now that this room was no longer holding their attention. Toki was managing to talk excitedly about what he had gotten the singer without giving away what it was, much to Nathan’s frustration. Everything was very normal and Charles was beginning to hate it.

There had to be some clue. Something he'd missed, or overlooked as unimportant. Even as he thought it he knew it wasn't likely. His growing, directionless paranoia had led him to look into anything even vaguely suspicious. Nothing was unimportant anymore, not until he'd figured this out or the show was over.

“Put a call in to the advance team and see if they've found anything yet,” he ordered, eyes glazed as he stared out the window in thought. With a sigh he pulled out the bottle in his jacket pocket and popped several pain killers. This migraine wasn't letting up and he was starting to worry about his ability to perform the ritual as planned. He certainly couldn't afford to skimp on it.

\-------------------------------

“Hey, is it tonight yet? It's getting pretty dark,” Nathan said pacing the length of the window panel in anticipation. “I shoulda just opened them all earlier, this is fucking stupid. Damn it Murderface.”

“Hey, hey now I didn't make you do anything. You wanted to wait. It was more brutal,” Murderface said condescendingly.

“Whatever!” The frontman shouted, “I'm done waiting now.”

“Ooh! Nateans I just knows you gonna loves your present!” Toki said, excitedly dashing out to gather his gift. 

The rest of the band hurried off as well except for Nathan and Skwisgaar. “So why aren't you running off to grab anything?” Nathan asked, sitting down.

Skwisgaar looked at him as if the question itself were an insult. “Cause I don'ts cares.”

“Right,” Nathan said nodding, “thanks man.”

41033, currently assigned to monitoring the band, pressed a button on his headset to contact 2073. “Sir, the band have begun gathering presents.”

“Thank you 41033, continue surveillance,” 2073 replied, turning back to regard Offdensen and the flurry of activity around him. The advance team hadn't found anything, and the manager was now of the process of scheduling a last minute employee ‘morale check’, designed to try and weed out any questionable klokateers. It seemed like a long shot but the man was determined to find something, and no one was about to stop him.

2073 squared his shoulders, always trying his best to look professional and certain, an unconscious mimicry of Offdensen, and walked over to inform his boss of the impending gift exchange. “Sire, they have begun gathering gifts.”

“Thank you 2073, take over here. I'll be back briefly and then I, ah, have some private business to attend to,” Charles explained, moving to leave. “Contact me if you find anything.”

“Of course, sir.”

Charles walked briskly down to 8781’s quarters to retrieve his own offering. He wasn’t certain if bringing the kitten into the main gift exchange was going to be the best idea though. He wasn’t quite ready for another new pet petition from Toki, at least not tonight. 

After a bit of consideration Charles opted for the safer option of leaving the kitten in Nathan's room and bringing him to meet it after the main exchange was over. Having an ‘extra’ gift would make him feel special. For all that they were a world power the boys all had some serious issues with self-worth and Charles liked to combat that whenever he could. He wouldn’t have to worry about the kitten getting into much trouble while it was alone, Nathan’s room on the deathcopter was even more sparsely furnished than his room at Mordhaus.

He knocked firmly on 8781’s door and was greeted by a very sad looking klokateer, kitten snuggled up on his shoulder covered partially by the hood.

“I’m glad she seems to like you so much, as you will still be her caregiver,” Charles started with. The man’s demeanor changed almost immediately. “As you’re well aware Dethklok are very busy people, and taking proper care of a pet is something I’m not certain Nathan is going to want to do. Your old duties will be partially reinstated, but your main task now is to ensure that this cat has everything it could possibly need, and that she is available should Nathan want her company. Understood?”

The gear nodded excitedly as he took the kitten from his shoulder, “Yes, sir!”

Charles took the now squirming kitten and briskly left without another word. He'd get her settled into Nathan's room and-

“My lord, we haven't found anything major, but there appears to be an anomaly with the weather patterns around Somalia.”

Charles didn't halt as his assistant reported in. Shifting the kitten into one hand he reached up to activate his comm, “Be ready to update me on whatever we've found, I'll try to make this quick.”

That didn't sound right. Whatever was setting off all of his internal alarms was a much bigger threat than any weather. Even Scrambles the Deathdealer hadn't overly alarmed him, though the amount of power the band had manifested to call it into being had been enough to give him pause.

He pushed the door to Nathan's room open and quickly deposited the kitten on the large ornate bed. He watched her for a moment to make sure she wasn't going to immediately dash off to cause havoc, and was quite pleased when instead the kitten settled in and began kneading a pillow. 

He didn't want to rush this, Charles thought as he headed quickly up to the main area of the vessel, but what if his assistant had found something important and simply didn't realize it? He paused to lean heavily against the wall, pushing his glasses up to rub the bridge of his nose. No. He needed to have trust in his people. He knew they were competent, but these premonitions were all he could focus on, and it was making him lose sight of everything around him. 

With a deep fortifying breath he pushed off from the wall and continued up to the main area of the dethcopter. He could do this quickly. Nathan likely wouldn't care if he didn't stick around too long. He'd have presents to keep him occupied, and with any luck Charles would be able to leave after introducing him to the kitten. He already felt a bit bad about it. Nathan was always complaining that he didn't pal around with them enough, and Charles knew it was true, especially of late.

No more time to think about it now though. He straightened and tried to will away the migraine that just wouldn’t cease. The pills had toned it down, but the heavy throb of it was still pressed tight and unwavering behind his eyes. It was workable though, and that would have to do.

As he pushed the door open it seemed that festivities were already underway. Toki was waving a sparkly craft project around with Nathan doing his best to avoid the impending glitter.

“It's the herpes of crafts Toki! It never leaves!” he shouted, putting the table between himself and the offending present.

“Aww, but I spends so much time on it,” Toki hung his head in disappointment, card and popsickle stick model dropping to his sides.

Begrudgingly Nathan reached out and carefully grabbed the edge of the paper between two fingers. The less contact he had with it the less likely he was to have glitter on him for weeks. He'd have to figure out another method for the model dethcopter. Gloves maybe. Yeah. Without warning Murderface ran up and slapped the birthday card directly into Nathan's chest.

The frontman let out a bellow of anger, shirt now quite sparkly, and tackled the bassist, craft project raised menacingly. Murderface did his best to shield himself but quickly found it useless as Nathan began rubbing glitter off over him.

“Glitters fight!” Toki shouted, already examining the popsicle stick dethcopter for areas that could stand to have some glitter sacrificed in the name of fun.

“Hey Charles!” Nathan bellowed across the room, still pinning Murderface.

Charles nodded in acknowledgement, moving to sit with the rest of the band while they waited for the frontman to run out of glitter. Toki bounded over to sit as well, deciding against any modifications to the model and setting it down in a shower of sparkles.

Finally Nathan stood, breathing hard as he tried to brush as much glitter off himself as possible. A losing battle he quickly realised. He'd need to have these clothes burned. “Alright,” he said coming back over to the rest of the group, “next present!”

Murderface staggered over, beating at the glitter that now covered him, as Nathan began unwrapping his gift from Pickles. Skwisgaar shifted down the couch, the further away from the glitter Chernobyl that was Murderface the better. 

As Nathan ripped the wrapping and box apart his gift was quickly apparent. He pulled the large bottle free from the last of its packaging to inspect the label.

“It's vodka made by starving Russian orphans!” Pickles explained, “ ‘s good shit. Dose orphans really know how to make a top shelf drink.”

Nathan went ahead and cracked the bottle open, taking a long swig. “Thanks Pickles. This is actually pretty decent,” he said putting the cap back and setting the bottle down far enough away from Toki’s gift to avoid any potential glitter contamination.

“Hey, open mine already!” Murderface griped.

“I thought you didn't get me anything?”

“Nah, that was just to throw you off. I got you the best fucking present ever,” he said lifting a piece of paper.

Nathan scrutinized the paper, eyes flicking over the legal BS uninterestedly, before coming to a sudden stop. “Noooo, no way. Dude, that’s the most metal present ever,” Nathan said in awe. “I’ve got a freaking black hole named after me!” he exclaimed, raising the paper triumphantly. 

After another few minutes of chatting over the presents Nathan seemed to realize something and turned to address Charles. “So, what’d you get me?”

Charles cleared his throat, “Ah, it wasn’t exactly something I could wrap, so you’ll have to come with me when you’re ready to get it,” he explained.

“Well let’s go now!” Nathan shouted, already heading for the door.

\------------------------------------------

“Wait, we’re just going to my room?” Nathan was clearly confused.

“Well I, ah, couldn’t think of any better place to leave her,” Charles said opening the door.

“You got me a hooker?” Nathan asked, peeking around Charles to get a look at his present.

“Umm, no,” Charles replied, picking the kitten up off the bed. “I got you a cat.”

Nathan looked at the tiny kitten for a moment, uncomprehending, before taking her carefully from Charles, a small smile growing. “Huh. Yeah, hooker didn’t really seem like your type of present anyway.”

The kitten had perked up at the sudden handling, and began playfully batting at Nathan’s hair. “You, you know, cats are pretty brutal. They kill stuff like all the time.”

Charles just smiled, glad that Nathan seemed to like his gift. 

Nathan was looking at the kitten intently now, clearly trying to figure something out. “Mittens,” he finally intoned, “Devourer of Souls.”

“That’s a very fitting name,” the manager said, “I’m glad you like her. Now, I need to go oversee some final preparations for the show tomorrow.”

“You can’t just bail on the rest of the party! You gotta get shitfaced with us!” Nathan argued, looking up from the kitten for a moment.

“I’m afraid I, ah, don’t have that luxury tonight. I’m going to be quite busy until the show is over. We can go do something after we get back to Mordhaus if you’d like,” he placated.

Nathan looked somewhat crestfallen, but shook it off quickly with a firm nod. “Alright, as soon as we get back we’re gonna have another party and you _are_ gonna stay and get crazy blackout drunk with us.”

Charles laughed, but nodded, “Fair enough.”

“I, ah, really do need to go now,” he said turning to leave. “See you after the show.”

\---------------------------------------

Charles headed out to the concert site alone. He’d had all extraneous klokateers sent back to the dethcopter for the night, and the few that remained on guard were only of average skill. Not much of a loss if they ended up being killed in the initial setting of the spells. He set up the smaller wards first, spread out into the points of a pentacle. These took the least magic to create, but would help to magnify the effects of the main protection ward, the last and most difficult piece of magic for the night. Charles needed to be certain that he put his all into this one. The innate feeling of wrongness had continued to grow over the past hours and was now nearly stifling. He was having trouble keeping his focus as he painted the final runes into place, waves crashing violently against the giant dome that covered the stage. There was something in the water. He could feel it.

With a brisk shudder, and a shake of his head Charles reined his thoughts back in trying to concentrate of the ritual he was about to perform. Carefully he placed the items that would direct the magic around the large central pentacle he’d drawn out, careful not to smudge any runes. He moved to the center of the pentacle then, robes pooling around him as he knelt, pulling a curved dagger from the folds of cloth. Without hesitation he pulled the blade swiftly across his palm, blood welling up quickly. He let it drip into the central design of the pentacle for a moment, closing his eyes and drawing on the full force of his power.

Energy crackled in the air around him, as lightning flashed sharply outside, the storm continuing on in its fury. With a sudden burst, like a fuse box finally deciding to blow, the magic blazed around him lighting up the runes in each pentacle, as well as the markings covering his own body. Using himself as a conduit was not exactly the safest option, but it did help to ensure that the magic held up. As the power continued to ratchet higher and higher Charles felt himself drifting off into the comfortable numbness that came with these types of spells. He was distantly aware of the lifeforce of several klokateers joining the blaze he was at the center of. All for the good he thought vaguely. With a monumental amount of effort Charles forcibly grounded himself, pouring all of his focus into directing the magic into the form it needed to take. He hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to control this much power, and as his vision began to blur, he knew he was going to be lucky if he woke from this in time for the concert. The final part of the spell fell into place and Charles wasn’t aware he was falling. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

\---------------------------------------------

This had turned out far more simple than the assassin could have imagined. As he stalked silently forward toward the ship-stage he found the guards already dead, save one poor bastard near the front who was dealt with swiftly and silently, body dumped into the churning surf. As he cautiously stepped onto the stage he found his target waiting for him as expected. Offdensen did indeed seem to be out cold. He moved to kneel by the unconscious man, hands sliding under the deadweight to heft him up into a fireman’s carry.

He slipped back out the way he’d come, hot-wired truck waiting where he’d left it at the edge of the concert site. Within a few hours they’d be on a small plane back to his hideout, and then the fun could begin. He was going to make the most of this opportunity.


	5. Probably the last nice chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long note, sorry yo.  
> Hey guys, so you know how most people plan out what they're gonna write? Yeeeeeeah, I didn't do that at first. This was just supposed to be a simple thing to get some whump out there as I hadn't seen much of it in the fandom. But now I'm here with like three separate plot documents and a giant fuck off research doc. So revisions are coming for at least the first couple chapters. I'm hoping to get those done quick enough that I can post them alongside the next chapter which I’m about to start on right now. The warnings will be getting updated next chapter, and I’m also gonna be renaming all the chapters. I’m deciding to go with whatever stupid thing I name them in google docs cause that’s way more fun than thinking of serious names that I still kinda hate. Plus it’ll give some probably well needed levity to at least the beginning of the chapter. :D 
> 
> So you know, this is currently looking like it'll be around 20 chapters(? Maybe, idk, I’ve never written a fic this long before) and most likely have at least one multi-chapter continuation.
> 
> I was wondering; how do you guys feel about weird horror? Cause I have some options and I like all of them. We can stay mostly in canon, we can veer off from it in a probably quite long sequel, or I can do all the things and combine both plots (the current plan tbh). There's just a lot going on now. I'm really bad at keeping a hold on story and characters, they eventually start doing things without me and I just write it down. I always thought that was a silly thing to say, that a character wasn't cooperating with you, but it's completely true.
> 
> Also working on another for fun pwp in between all this serious stuff. Oh, and sorry for giving you another cliff hanger. :D
> 
> Oh! and check out my tumblr if you do that kinda thing. Mostly it's just me making comments on whatever I'm currently writing.  
> http://gross-and-uncalled-for.tumblr.com/

The sudden visceral rending of the final ward is what ultimately woke him, shredding like tissue paper under the force of foreign magic. With an instinctual immediacy he tried to feel out for the boys, and the lack of anything in response drove the breath from him more effectively than the jarring snarl of magic ramming into his solar plexus. He would know, just _know_ , if they were dead though. He wouldn’t have to reach out to know that. So it wasn’t just the stage wards that had broken, it seemed all the spells he’d had in place were gone. Or at least as far as he could tell from here. Wherever here was. 

For a long time all he could do was focus on the sting of zip ties cutting into his wrists and try to breathe.

\----------------------------------

Nathan woke with a sound of blind animalistic panic, flailing out of the high thread count sheets to land heavily on the floor. What the actual ever living _fuck_. With a groan the frontman righted himself, sitting up to rub at aching temples. Definitely too much vodka. That didn't explain the crazy nightmare though.

It had felt _real_ , but as he sat and tried to come up with details he found he couldn't actually remember much of it. He couldn't forget the whale though. Something was coming. She had said something was coming, but Nathan couldn't recall anything else. Dreams were always useless like that, he thought. They never made any sense once you woke up.

He ended up unable to shake it. He got up to prepare for the day, prepare for the concert, but thoughts of the whale wouldn't leave him. It itched in the back of his mind as he pulled on a moderately clean shirt, and hours later it persisted, taking his attention from the day. That was probably why he'd been the only one not to notice Charles’ abnormal absence in the pre-concert bustle.

“Ay Nathan, you seen Offdensen around? He’s normally going on about safety stuff by now,” Pickles asked, snagging a perfect looking sandwich from the catering table. 

“Uhhhhhhh,” Nathan human dial-toned.

“Ya know, never mind, I’m sure he’ll be here soon and if not it’s not like we don’t already know da stupid safety BS,” Pickles back-pedaled, regretting his choice in asking the singer who’d clearly been elsewhere all day.

Nathan gave an indecipherable grunt, grabbing a sandwich for himself, before heading back up to check out the main stage again. He was actually pretty thrilled with how badass the ship had turned out, it was almost exactly how he'd tried to describe it in the brief planning meeting. Or well, he supposed it might not have been brief, but he'd only stayed long enough to tell them what he wanted. Absently, he hoped the flamethrowers would work. He'd mostly been joking, but damn that would be brutal. Underwater flamethrower. Yeah.

A sharp crack resounded through the dome as a wave struck, something slamming into it and jerking Nathan from his thoughts. As the water ran down the sides he could already see it had cracked the glass, fissures spidering out fractal like from the center. That probably wasn't good. 

\------------------------------------  
It was half an hour and three dead gears later before someone called 2073, Offdensen still being absent. 

The ship's control room was in a mild state of chaos even with 2073 doing his level best, the last thing he needed was anything going wrong with this show. The whole circus was a good deal more difficult to control than he had been prepared for. Hell, he kept reaching for his earpiece, aborting the gesture every time as he remembered that Offdensen wasn't here. 

Still, it was just a crack, what harm could it do? Based off the waves still slamming into it it hadn't damaged the dome too severely. The crack had yet to grow and no water seemed to be getting in. So it was just going to have to be fine. He didn't want to waste any more gears trying to fix something that wasn't truly a problem, even with Explosion becoming more vocal in his concerns as the day wore on. Nothing the man said made coherent sense anyway and 2073 was beginning to wonder if he was drunk, that stupid, or both.

\-------------------------------------

The fucking whale wouldn’t shut up and half of what it said were nonsense words. How the hell was he supposed to tell someone about this, to warn them he guessed since no one else could hear this damn thing, when he didn’t even know what it was trying to say? Nathan had broken quite a lot of furniture in his frustration and the gears had subtly moved what remained to another room.

“Nathan, you should calm down man,” Pickles said, cautiously offering the singer a drink. “He’s right, you weren’t making any sense out dere.” 

Nathan let out a drawn out sound of frustration looking around for something else to flip and, finding nothing, settled instead for grabbing the offered drink and chugging it. The glass shattered against the wall to no one's surprise. The singer stepped away for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. More together now, he looked back to his bandmates with a sigh. “You, you guys ever have, like, a dream, but it’s not a dream. Or, uggghh,” he rubbed his forehead trying to put it into words. “It’s a dream, but it feels, like, real. Or like it could be real?”

Green eyes met blank stares. “Right, so, ummm…. Uh, there’s this whale.”

“Oh cools! You saw a whale? They’re so cool, with their blowsholes like,” Toki began imitating a breaching whale.

“Toki this is serious! I’m being fucking serious, ok?” Toki stopped and looked away chastised. “This is gonna sound crazy, but this whale’s been talking to me.”

“Yer right! That does sound pretty crazy,” Murderface interjected.

Nathan fought the urge to deck him and continued. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck is going on either guys,” he confessed, “but I’ve been having these dreams for a while and they keep getting more real. It’s trying to warn me, to warn us I think. UGGH, but half of it is FUCKING NONSENSE WORDS,” he punched the nearest wall, punctuation to his frustration.

“Wells, I means engsglish is likes a bunch of nonskense words, but we learns it,” Skwisgaar said, Toki nodding in agreement behind him, “Maybes the whales am speaking whales language.”

Nathan paused. “Huh.” He gave the idea consideration before shooting it down, “I dunno, I don’t think that’s right. It just, it doesn’t sound like anything a whale would say. Like you know how whales are all ‘OooOOOoo _oooo_ oo’ it’s, it’s more like,” he made a sound that was somewhere between talking backwards and a harsh cough. “And I mean, the rest of it makes sense, but then it starts making those noises.”

“Well jus tell us the part dat makes sense den,” Pickles reasoned.

Nathan let out a frustrated groan, “You're not fucking listening to me. I already told you that part. It was just like a general warning. Something is coming. And I guess the,” he tried to imitate the noise that wasn't a whale, “is what's coming, but I don't fucking know what that is.”

“My lords,” 2073 interrupted, stepping into the common area, “you need to begin preparing for the concert.”

Nathan let out another frustrated sigh, at least the show would take his mind off this insanity. He hoped. He headed off ahead of the rest of them. It wasn't like anyone was getting the whole whale thing anyway.

“Ay, uh... you seen Offdensen around?” Pickles asked the gear on his way out after the frontman, still slightly concerned by their lack of manager.

“Everything is fine my lords,” 2073 replied with a calm he didn’t completely feel, “but you need to begin getting ready if we’re going to start the concert on time. Sir,” he added lamely, uncomfortable talking to the band like this. He wasn’t sure how Offdensen did it. Talking to them like they were normal people. He supposed he’d get used to it eventually.

“Ay, yeah, ok den.”

He left them to prepare and headed back to the control room to see what progress had been made on finding Offdensen. They’d found the tracking chip a few hours ago, casually discarded off the edge of a side road with a small spatter of blood. So far they had no real clue where the man was. The stage surveillance had been cut off the night before, Offdensen’s own orders, and he’d never come back to order it cut on again. They had a brief glimpse of a burly figure moving through the shadows, light glinting oddly off of… something eye level, but then the perimeter camera went to static. He’d sent gears out to investigate and they’d found the camera fried.

So nothing. They had all of exactly nothing to go on. Still, 2073 was fairly certain he could keep things running. Once they made it through the concert everything should settle. Well, rather once he got through the post concert paperwork. Luckily Offdensen had already gotten most of the post concert press releases written, 2073 would just need to go through and add whatever details pertained to this concert’s destruction. Because, as 2073 had learned very early on, there was always some kind of death and destruction.

\-------------------------------

Maybe it was the whale’s influence, Nathan wasn't sure anymore, but he felt like he _needed_ to open with this song. It was right. As the opening guitar riffs rang out he could feel the same comforting thrum of energy that accompanied every concert. Sometimes he wondered if that's why people always died. It was just a feeling, but much like the whale’s warning he felt like it was true. The frontman looked out at the screaming mass of ecstatic sacrifices and growled out the beginning of the song.

“The gods watch over you. And they consider what you've done.”

The wind began to pick up, the storm that had been hovering for days now finally looking like it would make good on its threat.

“But now you've hidden away, to gain your strength. Deep in a cave, your power is regained. And your legacy has spread to the deepest of the sea,”

The waves had begun crashing in, increasing in size and ferocity, and already masses of fans were being swept out to drown in the violent waters. They kept playing, as always, and the underlighting on the stage began to come on. Nathan had often wondered what the point of it was. The pentacles and shit were pretty metal, but it wasn’t like anyone but them could see it.

The waves were reaching a point that even the dethship was having trouble keeping reasonably steady, an impressive feat considering how many new advances in stabilization had been invented in it’s creation. The water was tall enough to reach over the top of the ship now, before it began its rapid descent. The pirates that had been invited out to see the concert and provide some scenery had all been swept well away. Their rugged ships smashed to rubble, and debris unsurprisingly managing to kill hundreds of fans as it was launched back at the beach by the raging sea.

“And the gods will curse you for the rest of your life. And you say, I get by just fine,”

When the next wave came down on the ship it came with a familiar sharp crack. Nathan tried to look, to see what it was but it was already gone. Swept away, or retreated, and his gut didn’t like the odds. Something was out there. And as the underlighting grew, probably enough to actually light them up now which was something, he realised he could hear the goddamn whale again. It was getting hard to concentrate on the song.

“And the deities loom nearer,”

As the song concluded, Nathan looked up to see that now the dome was glowing too. Or not the dome, but the crack in it. The ship was rocking hard enough that it was difficult to stay upright, amps beginning to topple over. The red glare from the underlighting was blinding now, and then with a jarringly near explosion it went out. Pretty brutal end to the song, he had to admit.

And fucking good timing too, because Nathan didn’t think he could ignore the mother fucking jerk-off whale any longer. It kept telling him to go into the water. Like he wasn’t already _in_ the water. The ship rocked harder and the whale grew more insistent, and then, finally, “Oh duh! This thing’s a fucking sub.”


	6. Awful things mostly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And by 'mostly' I mean entirely. Please go and **reread the warnings**. Be advised that this is a solid chapter of fairly graphic torture and rape. That wasn't the plan but it got long fast and I didn't have any good breaks to put a scene cut in so here we are. The next chapter should have the boys in it again.
> 
> Thank you all for reading this mess, and commenting, and kudosing, and _bookmarking_ , like woah. You guys are a big inspiration for me to keep working on this, and definitely my biggest motivator when I get stuck on a tough part. So thanks. <3  
> And, ummm, sorry for the all the horrible things I'm about to do to Charles, but I kinda figure that's why you're here in the first place. 
> 
> And again, I'm currently looking for a beta*, or more accurately, someone who knows the show and proper characterizations that I can bounce ideas off. I'm super concerned about keeping everyone in character through some character changing shit and would feel a lot more confidant with someone to check my characterization choices. If you think that could be you please let me know! PM, gross-and-uncalled-for.tumblr.com, carrier pigeon, dark magic, I don't care.  
> (*who has to be ok with my shitty communication skills and social anxiety, and you have to promise to tell me if anything I do is bugging you cause that is my biggest anxiety source with new people. thank you)
> 
> Oh! And what would you guys think of chapter/fic playlists? Would that be a thing you guys want? Cause I p much can't write without music so there's always a playlist.
> 
> Edit: also if you have any Selatcia headcanon I wanna hear it! (as long as you're cool with me potentially using it later in this fic)

Eventually there were footsteps. Even, measured, heavy. “Awake yet Offdensen,” the unmistakeable voice of the Assassin growled. He was unhurried as he walked around to face Charles. 

He saw the knife only a moment before he felt it, piercing straight through his shoulder. The man gripping it leaned in, twisting the blade as he moved, breath harsh and hot on Charles's face. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he rasped, “I’m going to break you,” he stated simply, slowly removing the knife. “Rip you apart, chunk by chunk, until you yield. And _then_ they can have you,” he punctuated each word with a shallow cut as he moved the blade down to begin cutting away the zip ties.

As soon as his hands were free Charles moved to grab the knife and headbutt the assassin. His body was slow to respond though, and the man moved easily out of the way. He hadn’t realised to quite what extent he’d over extended himself the night before but now it was clear. This was not going to go well.

In the next moment he found himself on the floor, the man with the silver face leaning over him, heavy hand pressed hard into his throat. He was lifted, not much, but enough to give the downward strike the force it needed. And again. And again. He could feel blood trickling down his scalp.

“It doesn’t matter what you want to know, you won’t be getting it from me,” Charles stated firmly, despite the concussion. 

“I’m not the one who wants to know things,” the assassin hissed, coming in to crouch over him, “At least not the kind of things you can say.” He began cutting away the robe Charles still wore. “I want to know when you’ll start screaming. When you’ll give up and ask me to kill you. You haven't reached the people who want to _know_ things yet.”

He was lifted again, this time by the side and thankfully not his neck. Now that he wasn't tied facing a wall Charles tried to get a better look at his surroundings. He was thankful he at least still had his glasses, though the lack of impairment to his vision wasn't helping him see any easy way out. The room was more empty than he'd expected. There appeared to be only one way out, no windows, a dingy coiled hose, and the metal table he was being dragged toward. He also noted a smaller table set up with a variety of instruments that he guessed he would soon be getting very intimate with. The only other adornments to the room were bloodstains and manacles. 

His recon of the room was shifted to the ceiling as he was abruptly slammed onto the table, the only thing in his field of vision now the assassin. The duct tape was unexpected but efficient and effective. He was still too out of it to offer much resistance and soon found himself bound securely to the rapidly warming metal.

He couldn't tell what the silver faced man was doing now, only able to turn his head so far, but it didn't particularly matter. This was happening and Charles knew there wasn't anything he could do in the current situation except to steel himself and hope either the klokateers found him soon or the assassin got sloppy. The ceiling wasn't much more interesting than the wall he'd been looking at before but he tried to find some detail to focus on, something to occupy his mind with to get him through whatever came next. 

He hadn't been expecting the blindfold. Not a proper blindfold though, and with a sinking feeling he realized it wasn't a blindfold at all. The sound of something sliding across the stone, snake like, told him all he needed. So the hose wasn't just for easy clean up. He began taking deep breaths. It wouldn't help much, but if this was just going to be a brief shock tactic it would get him through it. He didn't want to think about it being more than that. Charles held the next breath as he felt the assassin move near again.

He'd been through this once before. In training to be fair, which wasn't nearly the same thing, but he knew more or less how it was going to go. He also knew he hadn't been bound as securely in training, he hadn't been this weakened, or concussed.

The thought that he could die here leapt to the front of his mind, before he pushed it away. No, he wouldn't die here. The assassin had mentioned others and Charles could only assume he meant Selatica.

The water hit him like an epiphany, and the air he’d tried to keep rushed out of him in a choked gasp. Water cascaded down, rushing into nose and mouth, and for a moment Charles thought the sharp nasal sting of it was the worst part, but he quickly realised it was nothing compared to the burning agony of it flowing into his airways, internally strangling. The torrent stopped long enough for him to violently cough out a few breaths before it was ruthlessly back. 

By the fourth repetition Charles had lost whatever control he’d so far maintained and began thrashing against his bonds. The assassin gave him a longer break after that one. A sick form of reward for the reaction. The next time Charles tried to break free he did it with such animal desperation that, with an abrupt snap, he broke his wrist where it was secured. The pain of it brought him back to himself for a fleeting moment as the water stopped again, but the continuous feeling of powerlessness had him right on the edge of screaming.

It wasn't just the over-tight restraint, though there was a clenching tightness in his chest from the frustration of not being able to move, not being able to do something so basic, so fucking simple. Charles felt if he could just raise an arm, kick, anything, he would be able to hold out longer, to keep himself together, but it wasn’t just that. It was the drain on his magic as well. He'd put more than was wise into the wards and he knew he didn't have enough left to power even the simplest of spells. He was truly at this man's mercy, and he was fairly certain mercy was something he'd taken out a long time ago and shot.

The water was back, longer this time, and he struggled again, wild fear driving him. The grinding pain of his broken wrist was inconsequential in the face of drowning and Charles paid it no mind, desperately trying to pull away. When the water left this time he was given enough of a respite to get past the coughing and take several full breaths.

The assassin gave him a final drenching for good measure, only letting up when the struggling stopped. At this point Charles was simply too wrung out to fight anymore. The flailing need to escape had been replaced with a hazy calm as the lack of oxygen finally hit a critical point, water flooding in. He knew vaguely, somewhere in the back of his mind, this was bad. It didn't seem to matter much though. This wouldn't be such a bad way to die, he thought. It was calm now. Almost serene.

The tape was rapidly cut and stripped away as the masked man saw he may have gone too far. No, he wasn’t allowed to leave yet. They’d only just begun to get acquainted. With an ease that showed his practice the assassin struck him firmly in the chest.

The water left him in choked, heaving gasps as Charles returned to reality. Everything came sharply back into focus as he coughed through several ragged but full breaths. The assassin let him lay there for some time coughing and shaking now from the cold and shock of it. Charles took what little strength he could from the respite, broken arm pulled protectively to his chest as he continued to get his breathing back under control.

When he felt the man’s hands on him he tried to jerk away, more on instinct than any kind of coherent thought, and the movement sent him roughly to the floor along with most of the instruments on the small table. The next thing he was aware of were the assassin’s boots connecting.

Whatever water had been left in his lungs was quickly expelled, shortly followed by the water he had swallowed, as the steel toe continued to rhythmically bash into his abdomen. When the assassin seemed to tire of this he rolled Charles onto his abused stomach and dragged him across the room to a selection of manacles hung low from the ceiling. The one he grabbed was an archaic, heavy thing, the only components kept clean the lock and the jutting spike of metal on the inside of the cuff.

“We'll go with this one since you've already broken your wrist for me,” he stated, clicking the single cuff open, the spike swinging back. He grasped Charles broken wrist and unceremoniously stabbed the spike straight through, quickly snapping the cuff shut to cut off the blood flow.

The harsh exhale was all Charles had to give as he lay on the cold, damp floor. The assassin was a warm and unnerving presence above him. The heat drew closer, a hand running down Charles’ back in the parody of a caress. He tried to draw away, hoping desperately for it to be over, at least for the moment, and knowing he wasn't going to have that kind of luck.

He found his fight again upon feeling the bulge of the man’s cock pressing against him through rough fabric. The assassin pinned him easily but not before taking an elbow sharply to the kidney. He let out a low growl of anger, pressing Charles’ face into the ground until his glasses snapped, cutting across the bridge of his nose.

Charles jerked his head back sharply when the grip on his head let up, and this time the hit connected. It kept the assassin distracted long enough for him to scrabble for a blade that had been flung from the table. He cut himself in his haste but it was worth it to plunge the knife into the man’s thigh. There was a grunt of pain and then, instead of moving off, the weight of him only seemed to increase, bearing down to pin Charles more firmly. 

He could see the assassin removing the blade in his peripheral, and then it was punched through his shoulder from the opposite side. There was a staggered gasp of pain as it was quickly pulled back, before reappearing at his throat. Any further breaths were stilled for a moment, the imminent threat of death freezing him. The blade stayed and with it his compliance. Charles closed his eyes and tried to distance himself from the experience.

He'd taken his gloves off, Charles thought idly after a moment, mind drifting in aversion as he felt a calloused finger pressing into him dry. The bright sharp pain of teeth sinking into his shoulder pulled him back into the moment as another two fingers were pressed in. The tearing stretch of it was excruciating and he knew he was bleeding. The knife was moved away but Charles couldn't tell where. The assassin let out a hum of satisfaction and it was all the warning Charles got before the fingers were removed and the thick head of his cock began to press in.

He tried to focus on the pain of his mangled wrist, anything but the burning sting of being entered, but it was too acute a sensation. The assassin gripped his hips and Charles could feel the sting of tears dripping into the fresh cut on his face. The assassin pressed into him with an aching slowness and it burned all the way, tearing him further. Hips rolled and he slammed back to the hilt, faster this time. Stone scraped his cheek and Charles had to wonder for a moment that this was his life. This collection of experiences, leading up to this moment. He didn’t feel like that person was him. That was someone else, Charles wasn’t entirely certain who he was.

The feeling of a hand on his cock was startling in its wrongness. Even through the haze he immediately tried to pull away, only to freeze when the movement pushed the assassin more deeply into him. He wanted to move, but he couldn’t, and the knife was at his neck again, and he knew he was hyperventilating but he couldn’t seem to stop. The man touched him with a clinical precision and Charles felt sick when he realized it was working. Hips still rolling into him at a brutal pace, the assassin continued to work him to full hardness. 

He was unrelenting and Charles soon found himself on the edge of climax. Even as his body strove for it he couldn't help but mentally recoil from everything happening. It was disgusting (repulsive,distressing) on such a base level Charles wasn't certain he could quantify it. The thought that this was something that simply shouldn't be happening wouldn't leave him, pointless as it was. He shouldn't be here. He should have escaped. Been more prepared. Anything. 

He came with a soft sob when the assassin finally milked an orgasm from him, and lay unmoving as the man continued to fuck mechanically into him. He felt like he was just standing by and watching, letting it happen. 

Time passed indiscernibly but eventually the assassin stuttered in his punishing rhythm. Hips rocked hard into Charles before stilling with a brutal finality, heat filling him further. He pulled out with a pleased sound, more of a job well done than one of pleasure. Charles could feel the nausea building almost as an afterthought. The odd disconnect was a kind of blessing, he thought. Nothing felt real anymore and Charles wasn't certain if he cared that his perception was skewed if it meant he didn't have to fully experience more of this hell.

The feeling of it dripping out of him was almost more of a violation than the act itself, and just like that the spell was broken. Charles came back to the hammering of his heart and the shaking breaths and the radiating pain. He could feel his gorge rise as the man stood, could feel the pain across his face, the worrying numbness of his shackled hand. He could taste the sour tang of bile in the back of his throat and without warning it was painted across the assassin's boots. He got a kick in the teeth for it and, without a word, the man left.

With the immediate threat of further torture or death gone he could feel himself beginning to lose consciousness. Absently he wondered how much blood he'd lost and looked up at the manacle clamped onto his wrist. A mistake, as it was now obvious he was going to lose the hand if he didn't get the cuff off soon. The darkness that had been looming at the edges of his vision began to crawl in, and before he could even begin to formulate the beginnings of an escape it pulled him under.


	7. Whales and shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty excited that I'm getting these done in around a week now.  
> I think I figured out Selatcia, but if you have headcanons I'd still love to hear them. And as always con-crit is welcome (in particular, is my pacing ok? Starting ch. 8 and I feel like i should have covered more ground by now.), and thank you. <3

He hadn't bothered trying to talk about the whale again, just started shouting orders at any gear he could see that they needed to go under. The rest of guys were pretty confused, trying to get answers from him all at once.

“Natean, why are we goin’ down?!”

“Dat seems like a bads idea!”

“What the _fuck_ is that thing?!”

Nathan looked to where Murderface was pointing and… that was a fucking whale. He knew, just _knew_ , that it was the one that had been talking to him. She was staying right by the ship as it descended, and the hum in the back of his mind had changed from one of impending danger to an insistent message to follow. It was weird, coming through more in emotions than words.

“Oh wow wee! That whales am following us,” Toki was pressed to the side of the dome, safety concerns forgotten because nature was beautiful or some shit, Nathan didn't know.

“Toki get away from there! We need to go in. That crack really doesn't look great guys. Not if we're gonna be like, completely underwater,” he grabbed the guitarist, steering him towards the hatch that lead to the rest of the ship.

“Yeeeeah, I'm wit Natean on dat,” Pickles declared, already popping the hatch open.

2073 found them not long after they made it into the main area of the ship, now fully submerged. “My lords, you need to go to your quarters to wait this storm out. We're going to wait down here until-”

“Fuck that. Follow the whale,” Nathan ordered, dead serious. There was something up with the whale thing and he was more than ready to know what. Maybe it would take them to its city or something?

2073 paused, trying to decide if it was worth it to fight Nathan on the whale issue again. Better not, he finally decided, giving a nod in affirmation to the order. He needed the band to like him after all, and that wouldn't work if he kept challenging them.

So they followed a whale.

\------------------------------

The runes stood out clearly from the temple walls, unmarred by time, and as clearly legible as when they had been carved. He couldn't look away. There was something captivating about them. A kind of power.

The mesmerizing force of it was so great he was only vaguely aware of the numerous centipedes scuttling across the forest floor. They carpeted it, swarming up the face of the temple. Runes obscured, he regained his senses and couldn't help but recoil from the wall of insects he was mere inches from. They swarmed into the temple, taking the runes with them, and he was left in a forest picked bare of life staring at a blank wall. There was an opening, leading down into the temple, but the aversion he felt just looking at it was enough to quash his curiosity.

He wished the runes would come back. They had been like nothing he'd seen before, but still they felt familiar. The same tinge of anxiety that was warding him away from the temple interior had been present in the runes, but it was different. They called to his magic, even as they repelled him. He reached out to brush the old stone, hoping to somehow bring them back.

A deeply unsettling laugh bubbled up from the temple, the stones beginning to tremble and shake. A black tarry liquid seeped out from between the rocks, and suddenly the place with permeated with it. It came from between the stones, it welled up from the ground, it dripped down from the surrounding stonework.

He took a staggering step back, feet catching in the liquid and sending him falling. When he should have hit the ground he instead found himself dropped into freezing black water.

As he struggled and failed to stay afloat in this new sea he caught sight of something more terrifying than the concept of drowning. When he broke the surface again he struggled to stay up, to get a better look at, yes, a pod of whales. Their blood mixed with the black ocean, bloated bodies floating on the tide. Something massive had ripped into them.

His attention was pulled again, inward this time, a tingling feeling of power crackling across his skin, and he wasn't in the surf. Instead an ocean of sand surrounded him on all sides. It was dark, but something was illuminating the area around him and it took a moment for him to realize it was coming _from_ him. The runes covered him and he could feel their power, immense and ancient, and striving to be used.

He closed his eyes and tried to grasp the seething energy. The response was immediate and electric. He couldn't open his eyes but he could see it. The Doomstar glowed behind his eyes and with a jolt he woke.

The dream dissipated like morning mist, and Charles was left with the starkness of his current reality. He had almost no magic. He _hurt_. For a long time all he could do was lay there, taking stock of his injuries, and trying to work up the resolve to take a look at his manacled hand.

The relief of waking up alone was enough to overshadow the concern that he couldn't feel his hand at all now. Admittedly only for a moment. Groggily Charles pulled himself upright, struggling to overcome the weakness in his limbs, and what were at least a few broken ribs. He got a brief glimpse of his hand and had to look away. That wasn't a good sign.

He gave the room a quick look, searching for anything of use. He _needed_ to get out. The more he thought about being trapped here the tighter his chest got. There was a glint of metal and eyes settled on a small scalpel. It seemed the assassin hadn't been back to clean up his tools yet. Charles took a fortifying breath and began moving toward it. The manacle pulled at his arm, oddly painless, and he was thankful for that even if the cause was less than ideal. Fingers stretched, brushing the cool metal, so close, and then he had it.

He moved back with his prize, hand grasping the remains of his robes as he leaned back into the frigid wall. The fabric came up around him, scalpel hidden in the folds for now.

He wondered for a moment if perhaps he was still dreaming. Another shift in landscape. Maybe it had all been a dream. Was a dream. How could you really tell?, he wondered. Either way, he didn't want to be here any longer, dream or not.

As he scrutinized the cuff, Charles could tell from the look and feel (or lack thereof) of it that he wouldn't be likely to gain much motion back in that hand. The lock looked solid and unlikely to be dismantled with the only tool he had. A thought crossed his mind but he shied away from it. His options weren't good though, and _any_ escape would be better than staying. He took a closer look at the cuff.

It was simple for being so effective. The cuff too tight to slip out of, and the spike ensuring that wasn't an option in any case. He was almost positive he was going to lose the hand. Even if by some miracle the gears were planning an attack right now, it was just too late. He probably wouldn't even feel it if he did it right, he thought, off hand brushing the scalpel where it was folded away.

Fuck. He needed to get out before the assassin came back and this was the best chance he was going to get. And if it _was_ a dream then it wouldn't matter. Charles pulled the scalpel back out, cutting away a few strips of material from the robe, moving quickly now his mind was set. He tied the first tightly around the joint of his elbow and set the second aside within easy reach.

At least the bone wouldn't be an issue. Small favors he supposed. He took several deep breaths, trying to imagine doing it, how it would go. With a final harsh exhale the small blade slid in. At least it was sharp. He moved the blade around the top of his wrist first, right on the edge of the cuff. After the second pass he had to pause, blood trickling down his forearm. Breaths came rough now, body trembling from the instinctual aversion of causing one's self harm. It had the unfortunate effect of bringing reality back into focus, the sharp sting of it too immediate to ignore. No, this wasn't a dream, and he had to get out. He knew he had to keep going. The assassin would be back eventually and Charles planned to at least be free when that happened if not well away from this hell.

The blade pressed back in with determination, cuts stronger now, trying to get it over with as quickly as possible. When the blade sliced through a final time Charles fell back, freed. His hand shook as he wrapped the second strip of fabric tightly around his wrist, tying it off with the help of his teeth.

The first time he tried to stand he found himself abruptly sent back to the ground, legs shaking too much to hold him. He didn't have time to waste, every moment here potentially damning him to recapture. He leaned into the wall, using it push himself up. The robe came with him wrapped around himself as best he could manage, and then he began the arduous journey to the door.

\------------------------

It had been a few hours now, and the whale showed no sign of stopping. Nathan couldn't tell where it was taking them. He had even hidden in his room and tried talking to it, which yeah, did make him feel kinda stupid. The whale hadn't answered him, continuing her message to follow, and Nathan spent a lot of time talking to a wall. Whatever. Not like there was any better way to pass the time.

Eventually he left, too anxious about their destination to stay away from the control room for long. And actually, where the fuck was Charles? It was just a bunch of gears and his dildo assistant in here.

Nathan vaguely remembered Pickles asking him something about the manager but the whale had been taking too and he couldn't focus on both of them. “Heeey, hey you!” he shouted, walking toward 2073, “Where the fuck is our manager? Shouldn't he be here? Like, managing things? Or something…” Nathan trailed off.

“I'm sorry my lord, but he has been missing for some time now. We're doing everything we can to locate him sire,” there wasn't much they could do from underwater of course.

“Wait… So he's just like, gone?”

“Yes sire.”

Nathan left without another word, heading straight for the manager's quarters. He was gonna figure this shit out. No way was Charles just disappearing on them again. He found the door locked when he finally arrived, which stopped him for all of a few seconds as he threw his weight into it, determined and frustrated that this was happening again. Why couldn't Charles just tell them where he was going? Or at least why?

Everything looked, well, not normal exactly. He was used to the spaces Charles worked in being incredibly organized and neat, but this room was none of that. Papers were strewn across the desk, some fallen to the floor or crumpled in the vicinity of the trashcan. Nathan looked through them briefly, something about weather patterns, some recent copies of newspapers from around the world, a bunch of information about the storms that had destroyed the last album.

Nathan stopped when he reached these, turning away from them with a huff. It hadn't been right. He still knew that. With a heavy sigh he turned back to the desk, documents relating to the album shoved away. He still didn't have any clue where Charles had gone.

Several hours later there was a knock on the doorframe. Nathan was pulled from a surprisingly interesting article about foreign trade as Pickles walked through the busted door.

“Ay,” he greeted, coming to sit with Nathan on the floor. “What cha lookin’ at?” He asked, deciding to get a feel on Nathan's mood before asking about their manager. 2073 had given him some bs, and Pickles was certain it wasn't the whole story.

“Uhhhh, some kind of trade agreement I think,” he set the papers down, leaning back against the desk. “Ugggghh, I haven't found anything,” he groaned. “I mean, I thought for sure I'd find _something_.”

“So dat assistant dude didn't tell you where he was either?”

“No,” Nathan sighed petulantly, resting his arms on his knees.

“Dey must really not know where he is,” Pickles said worriedly. “Cause like, wouldn't his assistant at least know? Right?”

Nathan let out a drawn out groan, pushing himself up, “I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

Pickles watched the frontman leave in a huff. He always had been one of worst of them when it came to feelings.

\---------------------------

The whale led them away from the storm, and when they followed it back up to the surface it was a beautifully clear morning. The storm had been left behind them, quite literally, as it continued to rage in the distance. It was the only cloudy pocket in the vastness of the sky.

“Well that's weird,” was Nathan's only comment. Those weather reports _had_ been pretty bizarre.

He couldn't hear the whale anymore. An odd kind of blessing as he had been getting used to her presence in his mind. The word came down from a gear that they were on a course home now, the whale having left them. Nathan let an aggravated sigh leave him. Looked like he wasn't going to be getting _any_ answers today.


End file.
